The gift of life, it's a twist of fate
It's a roll of the dice...
The hotel lobby was empty and dark; as the door closed behind Spike the room echoed hollowly. The place was a little the worse for wear, but not run-down. The dark colors and rounded furnishings bespoke Art Deco, a period style Spike had always been fond of. A telephone on the counter rang loudly.
At least Angel seemed to have come up a bit in the world, although there was a sort of cognitive dissonance about visiting an old hotel in order to do business with a detective agency. He waited to see if anyone would answer the phone, but then it stopped ringing, and still no one appeared. Either they answered it from elsewhere, or everyone was out detecting. Should he call out, or just sit on the round settee and wait? All the rules were so different now. He found it a constant test to navigate the day to day landscape, to make sure he did the proper, correct thing, after all these years of doing whatever the hell he pleased.
And the mere act of living day to day meant doing things others found improper. Spike had needed to steal a passport in order to travel, and finding a white person who looked enough like himself in Africa had been more than a challenge. Giles had disapproved of stealing money, but earning it the honest way was a hurdle when you didn't exist in the world. Third-world countries, you could work for a bit of dosh without ID, but not so much in the industrialized world. It was next to impossible to simply take what he wanted when he didn't have the strength and abilities of a demon, and he was nervous about approaching the underground demon networks lest they discover his altered status and, say, kill or eat him.
As he was deciding what to do, a scrawny little dark-haired woman came out from a room behind the counter. "Oh!" she squeaked when she saw him. "I'm sorry, has anyone helped you? I'm Fred."
Spike raised his eyebrows and extended his hand towards hers. That's right, people shake hands when they meet. Check. "I'm looking for someone called Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."
"Oh! Well... oh. Well. He's, um." He detected a faint trace of some type of southern accent, but he wasn't certain what region, what with her monosyllabic, stuttering response.
"This is--" he nearly choked on the words, "Angel Investigations, right? Have I come at a bad time?" She made Willow seem cool and detached, and he couldn't imagine what function this stumbling, twittery girl could perform at a supernatural detective agency. Angel could break her with his little finger.
"No, no, it's just... you see, Wesley's not... he works here, I guess you could say, but he hasn't really worked here for a while and though he does come by he's not what you'd call a regular employee on a daily basis and--"
She was cut off by a familiar voice. "And he's not your business anyway, Spike." Angel stood behind the counter with a young black man, both of them glowering and imposing. Well, things had changed mightily since last he'd visited.
"Afternoon to you too, Angel."
Under her breath, just barely loud enough for Spike to hear, Fred said, "No tension you could cut with an axe here, no sir."
"What do you want, Spike?" Angel barked.
Fred turned to Angel and the other one. "Wait. Spike? Did you say... this is the Spike?" She took a few steps backwards.
"Before everyone gets out the fiery crossbows, I'm not here to hurt anyone."
Angel just glowered. Like that would work, like it had ever worked.
"Rupert Giles sent me," he said to Angel, who crossed his arms over his chest, all pouty and self-righteous. Not much the poof could say against Giles. "Look, if you just tell me where to find this Wesley bloke, I'll not darken your lobby anymore, all right? Jesus."
"I wouldn't send you to my worst enemy."
Spike was not deterred. "He work with you?"
"Sort of."
"Still the loquacious type, eh? Look, things have happened, I need his help, Rupert and Willow have been in contact with him, they told him I was coming. I'm not going to do anything to him." He looked around the room. "Hey, where's Cordelia?"
Angel looked at Gunn and Fred, and nodded his head in the direction of the stairs. The last thing he wanted was for them to have to deal with Spike; it would be impossible for Gunn to resist trying to stake the little shit once Spike started making sarcastic or racist remarks. Gunn wasn't patient with demons of Spike's nature. He'd never had to be.
"Come into my office," Angel growled.
Spike gave Fred a speaking look and then followed Angel when he beckoned towards the door. Fred watched Spike with fascinated eyes as he walked past her, which Angel found disturbing. The last thing he needed was for Fred to get fascinated by a vampire like Spike. She had a tendency to be intrigued by things that scared her, and she'd heard enough about Spike that he would definitely scare her.
Angel sat behind the desk and stared at Spike. He looked... weird, Angel thought. His hair had grown out a lot of the bleach, and his skin had color to it. He was thinner than normal and there was a dragged-down quality to him Angel couldn't pinpoint. "What do you want with Wesley?" he asked. His memory was imprinted with the last time he'd seen Spike: his torturer, his would-be killer.
"Isn't that sort of my business?" Spike asked, sitting in the chair opposite. "Whatever he discussed with Giles, that was for me and him. Don't remember you being involved. And if the fella doesn't even work for you anymore..."
"He does. It's just complicated."
"Which hasn't got a bloody thing to do with me. Not asking you for help, mate. Just asking where the bloke is."
"I want to know why you're here before I tell you anything." He'd heard enough about Spike's behavior in the past few years to know that he was still as problematic as ever, despite the chip thing.
"It's a long story."
"Something's different about you."
"Yeah, and since you and me aren't chums, I'm not telling." He got up to go. "Fine, I'll just check with Fred, why don't I? She seems helpful."
Just then Angel realized what it was -- with Spike's movement he could hear and smell it. "You have a heartbeat. There's blood moving in you."
Spike stopped, looking at the door, twisting his mouth in a grimace. "Got it in one. My, you are the clever lad, aren't you?" Spike sat down again, while Angel got up from behind the desk and stalked around the room. It was unnerving, reminding Spike more than a bit of old Angel. He used to pace around like that when he was plotting torment.
"You're human?"
"Something I'm trying to change."
Angel disappeared behind him and then suddenly, terrifyingly, Spike was lifted off his feet, fangs sinking into his throat. He struggled against Angel, bellowing in pain, then landed an elbow to the gut, knocking Angel off balance just enough to get himself loose. Blood poured hotly from his neck, and his entire head felt like it was on fire. He'd completely forgot what it was like, after all these years.
"You son of a bitch! What the fucking hell is wrong with you!"
Angel wiped his mouth, his fang-face melting away. "I wanted to see if it was real." His eyes glittered coldly. "It's the only way to know for sure, isn't it?" He shook his head like a dog getting water off its fur.
"Fuck you!" Blood seeped between his fingers and the wounds throbbed. "Goddammit!" If he'd thought it would have any more impact than a bee sting, he would have punched the prat right in his stupid Irish gob. "You did it because you wanted to show me who's boss, you fucking cunt." Angel circled around him, staring intently like a hunter to prey, before finally going back behind the safety of the desk. Spike rubbed at his forehead, the beginnings of a headache keeping a martial beat inside his brain. Jesus jumped up Christ on a biscuit, could this get any worse? "You bit me. You fucking bit me." He kicked at the chair in his blind rage, trying to break the arm for a stake, but Angel was there instantly, holding onto his shoulders. Spike yanked himself out of Angel's grasp, seething, heart pounding.
A little meep sound and a deeper gasp came from just outside the door. Angel rolled his eyes. "Would you two stop prowling?"
Fred and Gunn entered the office and Fred immediately rushed to Spike, pulling his hand away. "Oh my god," she cried, and looked at Gunn. They both stared at Angel in utter bewilderment. "What did you do to him? And why, if he's human?"
"So you were listening."
"Well, thank god we were, if this is what you're going to do!" Fred made a helpless face. "I should get a bandage for this."
"Sorry," Gunn said, "just that... this kinda stuff from your past lately's been turning things a little upside down, you know what I'm saying?"
All that did was exasperate Spike. "I'm not turning anything any way."
"Angel, how could you do this?" As mousy as she was, it didn't seem to upset anyone that she talked to the lummox that way. He had to give the girl props for that.
"I wanted to be sure," Angel said defensively. "Not certain I could trust what I was sensing and what he said."
"Probably because you're a barking lunatic, you stupid fuck." Spike was really not having a good day; sod Giles and the horse he rode in on for suggesting this asinine trip.
"Man, I cannot believe you bit the guy!" Gunn was a little too bemused by the whole thing for his tastes. "When's the last time you chowed down on anyone?"
That was just the last straw for Spike, who felt broken and feeble and slow, and mostly enraged because of all that. In the olden days, they'd have been dead a half hour ago. "And who the bloody hell are you? Where's Cordy and the mick?" This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to come here -- he'd known Angel would do something to make him suffer. Fred came back with gauze, tape, and disinfectant and started tending the bites.
"The mick died. Saving a bunch of people's lives, if you want to know."
Chagrined, Spike mumbled an apology. "And Cordelia?" he added. Everyone looked at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. "What?"
Angel cleared his throat. "She's missing. She's been missing most of this summer."
"Oh." Spike took a deep breath. "Oh, look, sorry. Didn't mean..." Bloody hell, what the fuck had been happening here? They were all acting squirrelly -- unless this was how Fred always was -- and there was something really wrong with how Angel reacted every time Spike said Wesley's name. Insanity was one thing, edginess and obfuscation another. Fred stepped back from her efforts and pronounced him fit for duty.
"It's all right," Fred said about Cordelia. "We're hoping now that we've got Angel back, we can find her." She gave Angel a scolding look. "And on top of rude biting behavior, no one introduced you. This is Charles Gunn, and I'm Fred Burkle. Winifred, but everyone calls me Fred. And Lorne's not here, but you'll know him when you see him because he's a green demon. Kinda hard to miss. He doesn't bite, though." She scowled at Angel again for good measure.
"Pleased to meet you both," Spike told them, but Gunn merely glared. He was going to hate Spike just on principle, that much was obvious. Cripes, this was a bloody waste of time. "What do you mean, now that Angel's back?"
They all went silent again. Oh, for fuck's sake. Clearly he'd walked in on something huge, and it was time to just back away slowly.
Turning to Angel, he held his hands up toward the great oaf in a gesture of supplication. "I have no sodding idea what I've stepped into here, but clearly, it's big enough to fill that lobby. And you're insane. Maybe I could just get Wyndham-Pryce's address, and leave you all to deal with it in a big dysfunctional family way."
The way Gunn looked at him made him distinctly uncomfortable. "Maybe we could get back to this human thing. Am I the only one who finds this a little on the disturbing side?"
Scowling, Spike said, "No, you're not. That's why I'm here."
Angel sighed heavily and his big Neanderthal shoulders sagged. "Just... sit down and tell us what happened and what you want." Only this time he was a bit friendlier. If he hadn't been a puny little human, he'd have beat Angel's head into a soggy pulp by now. Christ, he hated the bastard.
Spike reluctantly told him the story, only the Reader's Digest Condensed Books version this time. He left out the ugliest parts, but there was little way to explain his motivations without them and he glossed over it as best he could.
"I'd heard you thought you were in love with Buffy. I didn't believe it. Just thought it was one of your twisted head games." Fred was gawping at Spike, and Gunn was acting distinctly agitated. "So, what, having a soul wasn't good enough, you had to try to one-up me?"
"Yeah, that was exactly my motivation, being king of the hill over you." He ran his fingers through his hair. "You stupid spud, this hasn't got a bastarding thing to do with you. And just for the record, I didn't want to be human. It was a mistake. That's why I'm here."
"You think Wes can fix you?" Gunn asked incredulously.
"Was kind of hoping I'd get a chance to find out, yeah. Before it looked like I was going to get killed doing it." He touched the tape and gauze absently.
Angel stood. He'd dreamed of being able to kill Spike for so very long, but there was no way he could do it now. He was a hostage to his own belief in helping people. He looked beseechingly at Fred and Gunn. "Could you guys leave us alone for a little? It'll be okay." The both made dubious faces. "No bitey. Promise."
Gunn backed out the door, keeping his eye on Spike, but Fred seemed more fascinated than anything. She loved the weird demon stuff. Probably she was already starting a paper in her head about valiant vampires or something. He closed the door behind them and leaned against it.
"You did all this because you wanted to be good enough for Buffy."
"Wasn't my plan. None of it... falling for her, the chip, staying in Sunnydale, human. Just wanted to give her what she deserved. None of them can get past the soul thing, and I thought I needed it to prove to her that I was capable of better. She didn't believe it otherwise."
All the years of loathing had carved such a deep chasm between them that he couldn't have imagined feeling kind towards Spike. But now was not the right time to hang onto hatred.
"She's easy to love," Angel said sadly.
"No! She's not!" Spike barked. "It's torture to love her, especially when she's so hung up on that soul thing."
"All right, I'll grant you. There's a semantic distinction. I meant she's easy to fall in love with."
Spike arched his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. "Can't argue with that."
"I don't wanna ask if you..."
"Best not to, mate. Ignorance is bliss."
Angel squeezed his eyes closed, trying to keep a grip on his emotions. First he loses Cordy just when he realizes he cares for her, now he finds out Buffy was involved with the one vampire he loathed most in the world. Worst of all, now it would be easy to kill Spike. A quick snap of the neck and no more problems. But aye, there's the rub -- the human factor. Not that Angel hadn't killed humans before; viability didn't make a difference if you were evil. But Spike was trying to do good, do right by the woman he cared for more than anything else. Reason eight-hundred and thirty-four Spike was the most annoying creature on the planet.
Outside the room, he heard Fred and Gunn whispering. "Should we do something? I mean, what I heard about Spike was pretty bad."
"How much have you heard?"
"Not a lot, just the idle conversation and what Cordy told me about Angel when we first met, but still..."
"Boss man says leave it alone, we leave it alone."
When Angel glanced at Spike he could see he was listening too. Maybe Spike had retained some of his vampire abilities? Or maybe just anyone could hear outside that door. Angel rolled his eyes and shrugged, stood up straight.
"My reputation precedes me, apparently." Spike made a face. "What do they know?"
"A little. About my past and Sunnydale."
"How much do they know about the fearsome foursome?" Spike had a hard time imagining that Angel would tell them about all that. Much easier to talk about horrible evil Spike and evil Dru, keep the blame on someone else entirely and ignore his own unsavory past.
"Some. They met Darla a while ago. A lot of history came out."
"This was after you'd set Darla and Dru on fire?"
"Yeah. When she was... pregnant."
"I beg your pardon?" Spike looked for a sign that the berk was taking the piss, but Angel's utterly blank face was as utterly blank as it always was.
"So... you never heard about that. About my son."
"Your -- what? Your what?" Wouldn't do to start shrieking like a girl. Calm down.
"Darla and I had a child. A son, Connor."
"For fuck's sake! Of course I never bloody heard about it! Has Buffy heard about it?"
"That I can't tell you."
"How the bleeding hell could two vampires have a child? And is it a vampire? A super-vamp? What?" Outside the door he could hear Fred and Gunn asking each other if they thought Spike needed their help again. Probably because Spike was still shrieking like a teenage girl.
"It's a long story."
"Oh, too bloody right it's long story, I'm sure it's a long story, but you owe it me, mate. After I told you mine and all."
Angel seemed to take that under consideration and started pacing around the office. This time, though, Spike kept a wary eye on him and shifted in his seat so that Angel was never out of his sight. After one of his long brooding silences, he told Spike what had happened in his monosyllabic, monotone way. It was obviously something Angel didn't relish talking about. Spike just sat there, gobsmacked.
"And this Wesley... he's in the doghouse because he kidnapped the kid?"
Nodding, Angel added, "I tried to kill him."
That took Spike a few moments to process. "What, did you lose your soul again? You tried to kill your closest friend? You really have gone off your nut, haven't you?"
Angel glared at Spike with such ferocity and loathing that Spike felt the temperature go up in the room a few degrees. "I was bereft."
But Spike would have none of it. Angel couldn't make excuses for his bad behavior, as if all it came down to was some neatly drawn line between soul and not-soul. Pretending he hadn't learnt the same stupid lesson Willow was learning right now over in Devon -- that evil and good can coexist, soul or not. "You were psychotic, you stupid twat. And this bloke had the decency to rescue you, while your beloved, conveniently all-grown-up son is off somewhere in exile because he tried to kill daddy. You do know how to choose 'em, mate."
Angel made helpless, annoyed gestures at him. "Remind me again why you're here?"
Spike was suddenly longing for a cigarette for the first time since he'd been changed. "Point taken. All right, no more judgments. Just... Jesus Christ, what a story. You realize the kid's probably fucked up beyond repair."
"Probably," Angel answered with such hopelessness and despair that Spike's heart actually went out to him. What a surrealistic landscape he was wandering in these days.
"We're a pair, aren't we?"
Angel didn't respond. He stood so close that for the first time in over a hundred years, Spike could remember what was attractive about the enormous dolt. There was a kind of magnetism that pulled you in, despite your best efforts. It made him shiver a little. He hadn't thought about those days, about the fucking and the fighting and the torment and the pleasure, for so long now it seemed as if he'd made it up on a bored night. It was so easy to hold contempt for Angel as soul-boy that he'd forgot just how very, very good Angel could be when he was very, very bad. Spike looked up into Angel's dark eyes, and blinked. Angel must have been lost in his own little reverie, too, because they stared silently at each other for a while, until Spike remembered where he was, and what he was.
"Well, anyway. Time I went, right? Can you help me find this Wesley bloke, or not?"
"This Wesley bloke's found you," a reedy, RP-accented voice said from near the door. Spike turned to find a tall, dark-haired man with small glasses leaning against the door jamb. He had a face that looked as if it hadn't smiled in years, and a still-vivid scar spanning the width of his throat.
"Wes," Angel said with surprise.
"You must be Spike, I presume." He nodded at Spike, and jerked his head in the direction of the lobby. "Fred called. Told me I had a visitor. And when I heard who it was, I couldn't resist the chance to come down. I hope I haven't intruded."
Angel got fidgety and tense. "No."
God, you'd think Angel had to pay for every syllable he spoke or something. Spike stood and said hello. "Believe Rupert rang you about this?"
"Yes. And, well, it's really rather unprecedented, isn't it?" The voice was getting reedier, more excited. Spike had a bad feeling Wes might see him as more of a thing than a person, but if it got him closer to his goal, then thing he would have to be.
"Unfortunately."
"I'd like to hear your story, if you don't mind. May I take you somewhere for dinner?" He was staring at the bandage on Spike's neck, but was clearly not going to ask about it until they were no longer in Angel's presence. Spike was already warming to the bloke.
"Food would be welcome, but... the truth is, I'm completely shagged out from traveling. It's about six a.m. tomorrow for me right now. Hadn't a chance to even stop and get a room yet."
"Oh!" Wesley said with the excitement only an Englishman can muster over the chance to be polite, "if you like you could stay at my flat. I haven't a guest room, but the sofa's quite comfortable..."
Angel gave a little tilt of his head and kind of shook it a little, eyes staring up at the ceiling. "You can... you can stay here if you want. A lot of the rooms are empty but usable. Wes can hang around and collect you later. Some... work we could go over." It wasn't what you'd call an imploring look, but on Angel it was the closest thing Spike had ever seen to one.
After feeling like persona non grata for so long, suddenly he had a wealth of choices. But much as he hated Angel, staying at Chez Vampire seemed the most logical thing. "Since I'm here, might as well stay, I suppose. Ta, to you both." It was getting easier, this thanks business.
Angel asked Fred to show Spike to a room, while they stayed downstairs to confab over the situation. Clearly Angel was trying to smooth things over with Wesley, but Gunn was holding some kind of grudge, only Spike couldn't figure out what, exactly. Maybe it had something to do with Cordy. He heard Wes say something about the bandage. His hearing was still nearly as acute as when he was a vampire, strangely, but after they were up the landing he lost track of their whispered comments.
Talking a blue streak at him, Fred explained about the hotel and who all lived there and why the others didn't and then, once she realized there was nothing more to say, went off to get him some sheets and blankets for the bed. When he was alone, he looked out the window at the palm-lined street below. It had been a while since he'd been back in the land of palm trees and brown sky. He felt so displaced, not simply because he'd been traveling since the day before, but because he no longer felt like someone with a home. Even though his eventual goal was Sunnydale, it felt even less like a homeward destination than anyplace else. Before the chip, he'd never needed a home, the world had been his oyster, his feeding ground, his toy. Now, though, he was without grounding and focus. He didn't belong anywhere.
Spike sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at the wash of sunlight arcing through the window. They must be completely flummoxed down there. He'd had a sense that Wesley was excited, that it had fed some inner geeky watcher mindset, but Angel must be simply beside himself. The old adversaries, now both on the same side, both fighting their natures and stuck with this world because they loved the wrong girl.
The wrong girl. When he thought about Buffy lately it was almost peripherally, as if she was some sort of concept rather than a real person. Now he was back in California, it felt real, it was as if he could feel her presence in this room -- though she'd of course never been here. Probably it was because of her connection to Angel, but it felt freighted with a past he'd lost sight of recently.
Suddenly Fred was there in the doorway with bedding. Spike was prepared to make the bed up, but she insisted on helping. "I hope you don't mind, but I asked Wesley if I could help him with whatever research he does. You wouldn't mind, I mean, if I come along and listen to the story of how you got like this and all? And then, if there's something to do, well, Wesley and I make a pretty good team. I'm a scientist, or I mean I was a scientist till I got sucked into another dimension but of course you don't need to know that, just that with his background and my background and you're a scientific wonder, I don't doubt that it could be..." She stopped smoothing and stood up. "Sorry. I just get a little excited sometimes."
It reminded him so much of Willow that he didn't mind. "'S all right. Wouldn't mind the extra company."
"You and Angel... you're still kinda... enemies, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't go that far. But we're not chums, either. Lot of history there."
"Bad history." She nodded sagely.
"Lots and lots. Couple decades' worth of some large-bore emotional crap, and then him trying to end the world and all, stealing my girlfriend. You know, same old story."
Her giggle was infectious. "You guys were part of a group, right? With Darla? She was a little... intense."
"Darla was the epitome of evil." Spike was so tired he wasn't thinking about how he was talking. "Her and Angel both, really, before he got all soully. Christ, the things he used to do to me."
Fred was staring at him in the most puzzled way. She raised her eyebrows, and looked around the room. "So! You're all settled in here. I better go make sure they're not getting into trouble." She gave him a girlish glance and then fluttered to the door. "Come find us when you're awake."
It was funny, the way others treated him. Angel being more supportive than he wanted to be, Wesley and Fred intrigued, Giles and Willow so kind and open. If he'd come here before, as a vampire, even one in need of help, there wouldn't have been such warm gestures. No matter how well-behaved he might have been, they would never have opened themselves to him without a soul. Though, of course, Angel wouldn't have been able to bite him if he'd been a vamp.
When he'd left England he'd tried not to dwell on that, how weak and incapable and dependent he was now. How very uselessly human. The chip had made him one kind of helpless; this human thing was another, one far less escapable. Then, he'd at least been able to blame someone; now he had only himself to answer to. A miserable failure.
Watching Willow use her power, even power she was afraid and ashamed of, he'd felt small and useless; now these people would view him as a lab rat, even smaller and even more useless except as a point of interest for a future paper or something. He couldn't fight, he couldn't frighten, he couldn't inspire hatred or dread. Only pity seemed left to him, and that wasn't exactly a prize worth seeking.
Spike lay down on the fresh, sweet-smelling sheets and stared at the patterns on the art deco ceiling. Now he couldn't sleep. Sometimes you hit a point where you're so exhausted you can't actually find sleep, can only lie there while your mind pulses obsessively with every minute detail you want to forget. He closed his eyes and tried to will the thoughts away, but sleep avoided him.
There's a place off the 1 near Malibu he likes driving to when he's feeling restless. It's farther up the coast, and you can pull the car over to the side where it's quiet, and stare out at the water and the deep night sky. In his mind he's not in a room at a run-down hotel, instead he's here on this grassy overlook with Buffy. He's brought her here to get away, to make love in the car under the stars, their bare skins cloaked in the cool winter night.
She comes to him off and on, his itinerant, erstwhile lover. She rarely speaks to him for longer than necessary, but there's a desperation this time in her eyes that tells him all the story he needs to hear. In a way it comforts him that she hides everything except her desire; he can keep his emotions in check with greater ease. This night she is more hopeless than usual, so he takes her to a movie at a megaplex outside town, careful that they won't run into anyone. Then they drive up the coast, drive to forget.
Though they make love again and again, this night is so different from the others. Because, for once, they are not hiding or furtive, secreted away in his hole in the ground or in some dark alley. She lets herself just be with him, her guard down, a foreign connection and openness he hasn't felt before. He doesn't know why; probably it's something mundane like a fight with Dawn, a dunning notice from a collector. The things that grind her down into dust. They only leave when the sun threatens to come up. Usually it's Buffy who leaves Spike, Buffy who demands he go. Buffy who hides.
He can feel her under his hands now in this sleepless room, the slip of her silky skin, the pearly glow of her lips in faint dashlight, his fingers wet with her juices as he slides them along secret places only they two share. It haunts him, a waking dream: that he had something and it is gone, vapor that dissipates into air. The faint trace like a whiff of cologne after someone has walked past.
The connection has been severed and he drifts alone in space, the way astronauts do when they move outside the ship, tethered only by a thin white line against that void. Though he scrambles desperately for the line, it eludes him; the harder he tries, the farther away he falls.
He can still taste her, the longing leaves its flavor across his tongue and lips. He has memorized every inch of her body and knows how it looks outlined against stars and inky sky, or in the amber glow of candlelight as she moves above him. This is what love is to him now: memory and scar and revenant. A ghost of his misery that flutters among the empty rooms inside his mind and heart like a grieving widow.
"Hi-ho the merry-o, my little Chiclets," Lorne said, side-stepping down the stairs and removing his shades. Most of the gang was here, strangely, even Wes. "What's with all the sour pusses?" While he hadn't been able to bring back any real news about Cordy after a day spent asking questions of the local demonhood, he did at least have a few leads to offer them, and it always made Angel feel better when there were places to go he could bash heads and ask questions. But judging by the looks on their kissers, maybe even that wouldn't make them feel better, so he didn't say anything about it.
"We have a guest," was all Fred said, casting her eyes to the floor.
"Blast from the Angel past," Gunn added.
"Oh, I get it, we're playing Who's Most Cryptic? today. Wish you guys would give me the old heads-up sometimes; I forgot my flash cards." He fixed his eye on Wes. "And hey, don't you look like you've been folded into the dry ingredients, hmmm? Are you back for good?"
"I'm only here until he wakes up," Wes demurred, gazing sidelong at Angel with what Lorne thought was marked tension. Oh, for Marthbungle's sake, he wished the two of them would just kiss and make up.
"So who is it, already?" He frowned at Angel, who at least, while monosyllabic, usually answered the questions posed to him.
"Spike," Angel said, glowering.
"Spike? Hmmm... doesn't ding-dong any of my chimes. But he sounds like rough trade. Is he rough trade?" Lorne asked with a dramatic shiver.
"Very," Wes said dryly. "Punk-rock vampire who killed two slayers, and nearly killed... uh, the most recent one. His paramour killed another."
"Nearly killed me." Angel was barely audible, so that was Lorne's first real sign that this wasn't something to tease about.
"And he's a guest?"
"Well," Fred said to the floor, "it gets weirder than that. He's human now, and so we couldn't just kick him out. And Angel was his sire. And Angel bit him just now. Plus he's kind of interesting in a scientific anomaly way, and Mr. Giles from England sent him to Wesley so that we could find a way to turn him back--"
"To a murdering vampire? Uh, no offense," he said at Angel, "it's not really the vampire part I meant to hit, there. Just that, you know..." This really was the strangest group. When you spent any real time with them, everything started to make sense -- the fact that he'd lost his club because of them, and that he'd nearly been stuck back in Pylea again, or any number of injustices. The kids had good intentions, but everyone knew the road was paved all to hell and back with those.
"He was kind of... reformed," Angel grudgingly admitted.
"Oh, well, that makes it okay then." He stopped. "You bit him? Even though he's human?"
The only sensible person here seemed to be Gunn, who was rolling his eyes and pacing around with that agitated walk that made his backside move like a porch swing.
Angel fixed Lorne with a sad stare. "In some ways, I'm kind of responsible for what he was and what he is. And it's hard for me to go around saying I want to help people, and then not help one of them because of ancient history. We agreed before you came in that if we can do anything, we will. All we can do is try."
When Angel got all knight in ultrabright armor, there really wasn't much you could do but go along. They were all back in the bosomy bosom of AI, more or less, and Lorne was the last person who could complain about their need to play Round Table since he'd benefited from it so recently.
Angel looked at Fred, Gunn, and Lorne for confirmation, and they all sighed theatrically, but acceded. Then he looked at Wes, and the two of them nodded in a manful way, not speaking.
"Oh, just kiss already," Lorne muttered in exasperation.
End Ch. 3
My lovely cover art by X. Don't take or distribute in any way.
7/26/03